


Morning After

by alrightginger



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Mentions of Smut, Morning After, mentions of drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-28
Updated: 2020-11-28
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:53:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27748564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alrightginger/pseuds/alrightginger
Summary: There’s a boy in bed next to him. A boy he absolutely does not recognize, but desperately wants to.
Relationships: Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Comments: 5
Kudos: 99





	Morning After

**Author's Note:**

> Enjoy!

There’s a boy in bed next to him.

A boy he absolutely does not recognize, but desperately wants to. Remus would think, considering the sheer amount of tattoos covering the stranger’s body, that they would jog some sort of memory. 

That, considering also their state of equal undress, the tattoos would have further triggered something in him. A name, a memory of taking the sleeping stranger’s shirt off, how they even got to... _wherever the fuck they are._

Something. 

Remus blinks around the room, not recognizing anything. It’s a mess, so it’s definitely not his own bedroom. There are things scattered everywhere and his fingers are twitching to tidy things up. 

_No,_ he scolds himself. _You will not start tidying up the room of some boy you don’t even remember the name of. That will not be his first real impression of you._

He shakes his head, shifting slightly and finding that he’s a bit sore. Pleasantly so. 

Fuck him, he slept with the guy. 

He slept with him, and can’t even remember it. 

Remus groans, leaning back into the pillow with the palms of his hands digging into his eyes. 

What is the last thing he can remember? There was a party. Yes, that’s it, a party! For James. A house warming party for him and Lily, and James had shoved a drink in his hands. And then another. And then another. And then — _what is this James? It tastes like piss. Pour me another round._

And then it’s all blurry after that. 

Which is a shame, Remus thinks, lifting one hand slightly from his right eye to peer at the stranger. 

He’s gorgeous.

Nowhere near in Remus’ very narrow league. Perhaps he had been too drunk as well to see the scrawny thing he was fooling around with. It’s the only explanation Remus can think of. 

Terror shoots up his spine like lightning. What _if_ he doesn’t remember anything? What if he wakes up and he’s horrified to find a stranger in his bed. 

Remus has got to get out of here. He’s got to leave before he becomes someone’s biggest regret. 

He’s nearly got the covers kicked off _— they’re so nice, why are they so nice? It’s like he’s struggling against satin quicksand —_ when an arm goes around his waist, pulling him back down and against the stranger’s chest. 

“Don’t go,” he mutters into Remus’ hair. His voice sends shivers across Remus’ skin but does nothing to trigger his memory. “Mmph. Please don’t go. I’m not ready yet.”

“Um,” Remus says, patting the stranger’s chest. It’s extremely firm. He has to stop the urge to snuggle into it. Fuck him. “Sorry, but could you — can you let me go? For just a moment?” 

The person seems to startle at Remus’ words, releasing him quickly and sitting up with such force that he takes half the covers with him. 

How embarrassing, Remus thinks, trying his best to cover up to at least appear decent.

“Holy shit,” he curses. “You’re — you’re actually in my bed. I thought I was dreaming.” 

Remus raises an eyebrow at the other boy, an effective trick he has picked up over the years to intimidate people. It does nothing of the sort to the stranger. 

He looks more bewildered than anything.

“You thought you were dreaming?” 

“A cute boy was in my bed!” the stranger cries, gesturing at Remus wildly. “I don’t remember going to bed with a cute boy! What else was I supposed to think?”

“You don’t remember anything either?” 

Remus isn’t sure if this is a good or bad thing. On the one hand, at least they had been equally drunk. On the other, his… _performance_ must not have been good enough to remember. 

Bugger.

“I remember James’ party. I remember drinking. I guess I drank a bit too much, because I’m certain I would remember someone like you otherwise.”

The boy gives Remus such a dirty look that his cheeks burn red.

“Are you hitting on me? The morning after we clearly slept together?” 

“Is it working?”

Remus laughs, unable to do anything else. 

“I don’t even know your _name,”_ he points out, running a hand through his hair. “Or where we are. Nor how we got here. This is a fine mess we’ve found ourselves in.” 

The boy smiles. It’s heartbreakingly handsome. 

“Sirius.” 

Remus blinks. “What?”

“My name is Sirius,” the stranger — _Sirius —_ tells him. “And you’re in my room back at my flat. Though I’m not certain how either of us got here, as drunk as we were apparently.”

“Oh.” Remus flounders for a bit under Sirius’ charm before remembering his manners. “I’m Remus, by the way.” 

“Remus,” Sirius repeats. He lights up as he says it. “Excellent. We both know who we slept with now.”

“And we both have odd names,” Remus adds, leaning into both the moment and the headboard. 

Sirius laughs and it’s bark like. It’s lovely. It could charm everyone within hearing distance. Is he certain Remus is his type?

He can’t imagine him liking tall, scrawny boys who own a cardigan for every day of the week.

“That we do,” Sirius agrees. 

Remus slides back down until his head is resting against the pillow. A second later, Sirius follows behind him, propping himself up on his elbow to look at Remus. 

He wonders what Sirius sees. For him, Sirius is completely his type, though it’s nearly a shock. He’s handsome, outspoken, _gorgeous._

He’s the oddest combination of hard and soft edges, and smells something like pine. 

He’s completely unexpected.

He probably owns a motorbike. He _looks_ like he owns a motorbike. Christ, he’s likely just gotten himself involved with a thousand panic attacks.

Assuming...

“So…” Remus starts, needing to know. “What do we do now?”

“Dunno,” Sirius admits. It doesn’t sound like it pains him to do so. Remus cannot stand not knowing what to do next. Sirius says it like he goes through life this way. “What would you like to do, Remus?”

“I think… I’d like to stay here a little longer. In this bed. With you. If that’s alright.”

Sirius’ lips quirk. Remus wonders if he kissed them last night. He’d like to do it sober enough to remember this time. 

“That’s perfectly alright. More than alright.” 

“Excellent.” 

“Then maybe afterwards we could get something to eat?” Sirius asks, smiling softly. 

“Hmm,” Remus hums. “Are you asking me out on a date?”

“Well we _did_ just sleep together —“

“Though neither of us can remember it.” 

“Shame, that,” Sirius says, sighing dramatically. “We ought to fix it. Don’t you think?” 

Remus scrunches his nose, feigning thought. 

“Maybe. After breakfast though. So we don’t appear too eager.”

“Brill,” Sirius says. “You’ll need your strength anyway.” 

Sirius leans down to kiss him, and, _oh,_ that’s nice. It’s more than nice, he tells himself as his heart starts to patter. It’s familiar in a way that he can’t recall, and yet somehow different from how anyone has ever kissed him before. 

He likes it so much, they don’t make it to breakfast. 

They don’t manage to get out of bed until well after lunch, and Remus is very thankful to know Sirius’ name now. 

It seems to be the only thing he can manage to say.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Leave a comment!


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